


Sugar and Spice and Everything Nice

by LadyNorbert



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Boats and Ships, Bribery, Candy, Carrots, Cookies, Cullen Rutherford Fluff, Duelling, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Isabela being Isabela (Dragon Age), Pining, Pirates, Skyhold (Dragon Age), Sweet Cullen Rutherford, Val Royeaux (Dragon Age), Varric Tethras Writes, Wine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-25
Updated: 2019-09-25
Packaged: 2020-10-27 19:09:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20765477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyNorbert/pseuds/LadyNorbert
Summary: When Varric's friends won't give him as many details as he wants about a recent incident, he just has to take matters into his own hands. Three stories, three romances, and one list of recurring themes.





	1. Making His List and Checking It Twice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [abhorthealien](https://archiveofourown.org/users/abhorthealien/gifts).

> What happened was this: my lovely Black Emporium recipient gave me three possible pairings to work with, and I had ideas for all of them. So I wrote them all and tied them together with a big Varric-shaped bow. I hope you like it!
> 
> Special thanks to SorchaCahill for her help with the Isabela section, and to AuroraBorealia for beta reading and cheerleading, and to the BE mods for all their support!

The Belle Marche in Val Royeaux was hot and sticky, the summer heat caged by the elaborate buildings with nowhere to go but up; it seemed to bounce off of the Eight Silks and settle again. Cullen found himself thinking longingly of the cold winds which brushed against the exterior walls of Skyhold and kept his office from getting too warm. He was aching from months without lyrium, and his armor trapped heat inside it like steam and left him far more uncomfortable than was necessary. 

* * *

“Not a bad start,” Varric interrupted. 

He glanced up from his parchment in time to catch the annoyed expression which sketched itself across Cullen’s face. “Aw, come on, Curly, don’t look so sour. This is gonna be gold when I finish editing.”

“I really don’t know what more you want,” Cullen protested. “It was a thing that happened. It might not be worth recalling, nor would I be inclined to think it worth _telling_. What sort of readers would be interested in any of this?”

“Are you kidding me? Look, I don’t spend a lot of time in the romance market, I’m not particularly good at it. Well,” the dwarf amended with a smirk, “not particularly good at _writing_ it. My other areas of expertise on the subject are best described by parties not currently present.” Cullen groaned, but Varric ignored him. “The smut market is cutthroat, and I mean that literally - my editor is in the Coterie, as you might recall - and fluff is, well, fluff is very subjective. But knights in shining armor are usually popular with the readers, they’ll lap this up like cats who got into the cream. Or Sera getting into the jam cupboard.”

“That was a mental picture I didn’t really need, Varric, thank you all the same.”

“You know what I’m saying. We stick a hero like you on the front cover, it’s gonna be like printing money.”

Cullen blanched. “I can’t decide if I’m more flattered or disturbed,” he said after a moment. “You’re not going to actually use my picture?”

“Nah, just a really impressive lookalike.” Varric chuckled. “But first things first. You have to tell me the rest of the story.”

“Varric, I really don’t have time for this.”

Varric sighed. “You know what that means, don’t you?”

“Do I _want _to know?”

“It means that I’ll have to make it all up by myself.”

To his surprise, the commander looked somewhat amused. “Wouldn’t you more or less have done that anyway, with your ‘editing’ process?”

“Well… you’re not entirely wrong,” the dwarf allowed.

“There was a duel, and a pirate, and an Antivan noble. It was hot and the crowd was annoying. I’ll leave the rest to your imagination.”

“Curly, you’re all heart,” Varric grumbled. “Maybe I can pry a few more details out of Isabela.”

* * *

“I don’t know what you want me to tell you,” Isabela said mildly. “It’s not as though you’re not going to make up whatever story you want to tell anyway.”

“Not you too, Rivaini? I already hit a brick wall trying to get it out of Cullen.”

She laughed. “I know the feeling.”

“I very much doubt we’ve tried to get the same thing out of Curly.” Varric chuckled, however.

“Probably not. He’s pretty, to be sure, but not really my type. Still, I’d have given him a tour of the lower deck if I thought he’d be up for it.”

The author rolled his eyes, trying not to smile. “That’s really a lot more information than I will ever need in my entire life, thank you.”

“That’s me, I’m a helper,” she replied cheerfully.

“Look, give me _something _to work with here, please. Otherwise I have to bother our beloved Josephine, and she’s always so busy that I’m not sure she actually sleeps.”

“What have you gotten from Cullen?” Isabela tilted her head curiously.

“A duel, a pirate - I assume that means you - and a lot of annoying Orlesians in hot weather.” His expression turned faintly pleading.

“Hm. Well, there was also some wine, and a box of… what are they called? Carastian candies? Those things your ambassador loves.”

“That’s them, yeah.” He scribbled that on a stray piece of paper. “That’s it? That’s all you can tell me?”

“Oh, I_ can_ tell you more than that. But it’ll be more fun to see what you invent.”

* * *

_ The upshot of all of this _ , Varric wrote in a letter to Bethany that evening, _is that our friends think it’s more entertaining to watch me fill in the blanks than to just give me an account of what actually happened. I’m honestly not sure if I’m more flattered or irritated. Even Josephine wouldn’t give me much more than the other two did, but she’s eager to see what I imagine. _

_ I beg of you, Milady Sunshine, write to me soon and appeal to my ego in a way that __doesn’t_ _create extra work for me. _

He signed the letter with a flourish, sealed it, and put it aside to hand off to a runner the next morning. With a sigh, he picked up his list of ‘evidence’ and studied it anew. It had the following elements:

  * Pirate - Isabela most likely, but who knows
  * Hot weather - ugh
  * Duel - swords? Feathers? Sharpened carrots?
  * Wine - did they get drunk? Bathe in it? Bribe people with it?
  * Orlesians - again, ugh
  * Carastian candies - Ruffles likes these a lot
  * Ship - model? Real? Metaphorical?
  * Inquisitor - where’s he fit into all this? He was there, but that’s all anyone told me

“Hm.”

Varric rubbed his chin thoughtfully. He glanced at his pile of fresh parchment, then picked up a knife to sharpen his quill. “All right, humans,” he said to himself. “If you won’t tell me what really happened, you’re going to get my version. And since I can’t actually decide which idea I like best… you get them_ all_.” He paused. “It occurs to me that this might be what they wanted in the first place. Ah, well, we’ll see what happens.”


	2. Sugar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen tries to ignore his growing feelings for Josephine, but they both have a sweet tooth that will not be denied.

It was a long time before Cullen could admit to himself what had happened.

At first he chose to ignore the butterflies that would mysteriously flock to his stomach every time the war council convened. He would do his best not to turn his head, not to admire the light streaming through the latticed window pane and illuminating her glossy blue-black head. He would certainly not stare at the elegance of her hands when they arranged figurines on the war table or curled ink in precise rows across a sheet of parchment. And no, he did not happen to notice the deep obsidian pools which served as her eyes, nor the dimples which graced her cheeks with every smile. Certainly not.

Except, of course, for the fact that he _ did _ notice these things.

Even when he started to acknowledge his observations, he dismissed their significance. To be sure, it gave him something pleasant on which to focus his mind on those rare occasions when he attempted to sleep. It even managed to occasionally interrupt his nightmares, diverting his subconscious - however briefly - from its normal plagues. There was something almost amusing in it, really; a dream in which he was fighting back against a demon suddenly shifted to a perfumed bit of nonsense in which he dueled a pirate under a blazing sun to save an Antivan princess. For the first time in a very long time, he woke up chuckling rather than panting and disoriented.

Still, he would not and could not acknowledge it. There was too much disparity in their ranks; she was proper nobility, eldest child and heir to a seafaring fortune, wealthy and refined and educated. He was common Fereldan stock, the scion of generations of farmers and ploughshares, elevated to his current position merely through some hard work and incredibly horrible luck. She would never look at him twice, he thought, and even if she did he was hardly in a position to approach her. It was better if he just kept his feelings quiet and unstated, admiring from a distance, savoring her occasional smile and the impish glints of her eyes.

But then came the cookies.

* * *

He hadn’t expected them, not really. He knew that someone was sniffing around about his birthday, because one of the Skyhold runners asked him when it was. “My birthday? It’s already passed.” The fact that the question came from a runner somewhat narrowed down the field of likely suspects, but not very far; Skyhold was populated with busybodies. For all he knew, Varric was compiling a biography about him - a concept he found equal parts flattering and terrifying.

A few days later, however, he returned to his office and found a box on his desk. The tag was simple: _ Happy belated birthday to our hardworking commander. -Josephine _

He carefully untied the tag and, after a moment’s hesitation, tucked it into the hidden inner pocket of his surcoat. Turning his attention to the box, he opened it and was immediately hit by a familiar and sweetly decadent fragrence. The package contained, to his immense delight, what seemed to be piles and piles of sugar cookies. He hadn’t eaten sugar cookies in what felt like forever - his mother used to make them when he was a child, soft golden wheels of butter and sugar. Sometimes he and his brother and sisters would use them as gambling tokens when they played games with each other. Unable to resist for another second, he seized a cookie and bit into it, his teeth sinking into the perfectly baked texture. It felt like a homecoming.

She gave him cookies.

It seemed like such a little thing - to a lady of such a fine background as Josephine’s, it probably was nothing at all. But to Cullen, it was tremendous. Impulsively, he looked around his office, trying to find something that he could give her in return. 

Some Orlesian fop had sent him a bottle of pretentious wine, which he was currently using as a paperweight; no, that wouldn’t do at all. He’d give it to Dorian during their next chess game, since that way it wouldn’t go to waste. But his lady Josephine needed something special, something that would mean as much to her as the cookies did to him. And he had absolutely nothing.

Frustrated, Cullen shoved another cookie in his mouth before hiding the box in his desk. He’d eat them all at once if he wasn’t more disciplined. From another desk drawer he pulled a bag of gold coins, which he counted quickly before heading down to the lower bailey. Bonny Sims was minding her shop at almost every hour of the day; surely there would be _ something _ in her inventory that would serve the purpose.

* * *

“I have it on good authority,” he said shyly, by way of announcing himself as he opened the door to Josephine’s office, “that you’re quite fond of Carastian candies.”

She looked up from her writings, and smiled a welcome. “That is indeed the rumor,” she replied playfully. 

“First, let me thank you for the cookies,” he said. “Butter and sugar cookies were a treat in my family, I haven’t had them in years. It was a perfect gift.”

“Oh - truly? I’m so pleased that you enjoyed them.”

“Very much. So I wanted to do something in return, since - since I don’t know your birthday,” he admitted. “Here.” He moved forward to place two items on her desk. One was a small box of the aforementioned candies, while the other was a miniature ship in a bottle. “I couldn’t decide which one you would like better, so I got them both.”

“Cullen, you - you didn’t have to - this is so sweet,” Josephine stammered. “My family has owned trading ships for generations, this even looks like one of my father’s vessels. And the candies - I will _ savor _ them, Commander.” As if to prove the point, she took one from the box. 

Cullen watched in pure fascination, unable to tear his eyes away, as she unwrapped it slowly. It seemed like even her fingers were enjoying the process of revealing the coveted treat, and her movements were deliberate and particular. Then, with equally agonizing slowness, she brought it to her lips, almost kissing the shimmering colors of the candy surface before opening her mouth and settling it delicately on her tongue. Her eyes closed, the dimples appeared, and she leaned back in her chair in a languid pose of pure bliss. He imagined the flavor of the candies (he'd sampled one out of curiosity, he knew how they tasted) making itself known, imposing itself on her delighted senses.

If Inquisitor Trevelyan had not chosen that moment to appear, Cullen wasn’t entirely sure what he would have done next. A thousand possibilities, each more impossible than the next, crowded into his mind, erasing all words.

As it was, he barely managed to stutter a half-witted remark about how he was pleased that she liked her gifts, and managed not to trip over his own feet on his way out. He could hear the nobleman chuckling as he left, and making a teasing remark to Josephine about her beautifully flustered expression.

_ Well. If she’s beautifully flustered because I gave her gifts… maybe this isn’t such a ridiculous idea after all._

Cullen wasn’t sure he was anyone’s knight in shining armor - not the way the phrase usually meant - but for perhaps the first time in his life, he found he was willing to try on the mantle and see how it fit. After all, he thought, a lady like Josephine deserved no less.


	3. Spice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pirates love booty, and duels, and the sea.

Isabela was glad that Varric was in Skyhold, since it gave her an excuse to visit and get into all kinds of new trouble. Not that she had any objection to her old kinds of trouble, of course, but it was fun to try out different forms of chaos to see which ones she liked best.

Her current favorite form of trouble was, to be precise, the lovely form of the ambassador. Josephine Montilyet was everything Isabela considered herself not to be - modest, ladylike, refined, and, at least in some ways, innocent. She made it her mission to remove a little of that, and to her infinite satisfaction, Josephine was more receptive than she had anticipated.

At first glance, the two women really didn’t have much in common. But they both liked ships. (In fact, Isabela was fairly sure she’d plundered one of Josephine’s family’s ships at some point in the past, a historical anecdote which she thought it best not to mention to the object of her attentions.) It was enough to be able to talk shop with someone who knew the terminology, and when she wasn’t teasing a blush into Josephine’s cheeks, Isabela was relishing the opportunity to speak to someone who _ understood _ her love for the sea.

Her visits to Skyhold became more and more frequent, and had less and less to do with Varric. Not that he minded, she knew; as long as she gave him the occasional bit of dirt for him to use in one of his stories, he wouldn’t hold a grudge. As often as she could contrive it, therefore, she was spending her evenings by Josephine’s fire, sharing spiced wine, curling the ambassador into her arms and talking about stormy seas, both literal and metaphorical. 

Josephine had been to sea, but never with Isabela as her captain, and even with as much as it turned out she knew, there was still plenty for the pirate to teach her. When she had to be away, she found herself returning with gifts for the ambassador - usually little packages of those Carastian candies, which seemed to make her melt when they melted on her tongue. Isabela couldn’t fault her enjoyment of those, especially once she herself got a taste.

* * *

Nothing prepared her, however, for the day she entered Josephine’s office, armed with candy and brandy (because it rhymed), only to find her sweet little Antivan pacing the floor anxiously. “Are you all right?” Isabela asked, chuckling. The chuckle died when she saw Josephine’s face; whatever was troubling her was, well, trouble.

“I’m _ engaged_,” she blurted.

“Well, that’s… something,” Isabela replied. “How’d that happen?”

“My parents have been looking for some time for a possible match - I didn’t think they were too serious, so I haven’t actually told them about us, and… then I got a letter. I am formally betrothed to a Lord Adorno Ciel Otranto. If things were different, I would not mind, but now…” She gestured aimlessly at Isabela.

“Oh, don’t look so glum,” said Isabela. “This is probably better for you in the long run. Right?”

She wasn’t prepared for the look of wounded reproach the ambassador aimed at her. Damn, she was _ good _ at that. Was that how she usually conducted negotiations on behalf of the Inquisition? “I just meant - you know. Marrying a fancypants noble is probably more suited to Lady Montilyet’s station than, you know, running away to sea with someone like me.”

“As you say.” Josephine still didn’t look happy, however. “Well. In… in light of this new development, I’m afraid… we must refrain from being alone together. I cannot give anyone even the faintest impression that my behavior is untoward, and… I’m sorry.”

“Oh, I see.”

* * *

She tried to accept it, tried to put it out of her mind. Isabela was a pirate, and she wasn’t one to shy away from claiming a booty even when it belonged to someone else, but she wasn’t a fan of humiliating an innocent party either. Josephine qualified. Even this Lord Orko-whatever sort of qualified, at least in the sense that he’d never done anything horrible which ever reached her ears. (Cuckolding an evildoer wouldn’t have troubled her; cuckolding a decent guy was another story. And there was no way that Josephine’s parents would have betrothed her to anyone who wasn’t decent.)

So she had to keep her hands off of this particular booty.

That part didn’t bother her, necessarily. What _ did _ bother her was the whole arranged marriage business. She wasn’t the biggest fan of marriage in general; sure, it worked for some people, but it wasn’t her thing. But arranged marriages? Ever since her mother sold her into the bondage and the bitch hadn’t even haggled a decent price for her, she hadn’t thought well of such a thing. Not for her, not for anyone who mattered to her. Josephine definitely fell into that category.

She was Rivaini, however, not Antivan, and certainly not nobility. So she had to do some research first. More accurately, she had to have someone _ else _ do some research - Isabela suddenly hanging out in the library, any library, would have raised a few eyebrows. Fortunately, Varric was able to direct her to the Inquisition’s resident rebellious heretic archivist, because every Chantry organization should have one of those. Dorian’s cooperation was not expensive; Josephine had apparently done her best to curtail his acquisition of particularly good spirits, for whatever reason, and Isabela had more than a few channels of access she could use to get him what he wanted.

“What exactly is it you want to know?”

“Any socially acceptable means of ending a betrothal in Antiva. I don’t want to humiliate or kill anybody if I can help it,” she clarified. “Just end things relatively painlessly. Also some contact information for this one guy.”

“That doesn’t sound terrible. I was worried for a moment that you might be asking me to do something the Inquisitor would dislike,” he admitted. “I have few friends, and he is by far my closest.”

“I don’t think His Worship would mind this,” she replied. “But even better, let’s not tell him.”

“Very well. Give me a few days and I’ll get what you need, while you gather what _ I _ need.”

The Tevinter was as good as his word, which to Isabela’s mind proved that they weren’t all lying bastards; this might be useful to know. For the price of a mere ten bottles of the best wine she could collect, she had all the information she needed. From the look of things, she could end the whole thing just by challenging Lord Oreo to a duel. Her next step was the letter.

_ Your Lordship, _

_ Want to dance with a pirate in Val Royeaux? You bring the weapons, I’ll bring the wine. Whoever wins gets to decide the outcome of your engagement. Don’t keep me waiting. _

_ Admiral Isabela, Queen of the Eastern Seas _

* * *

To his credit, Lord Oregano didn’t keep her waiting. They met in the Belle Marche on a sweltering summer day, and an eager crowd arranged itself around the square to watch. “As the injured party,” he said, flourishing a pair of rapiers, “the choice of weapons is mine.”

“You have no imagination,” she replied. “I was hoping for feathers. But suit yourself - I’m a cunning duelist.”

The edges of the blades crashed together a handful of times before the unexpected happened - they were interrupted by a cry of “Stop!” Turning, they saw Josephine pushing her way through the crowd, followed by a baffled-looking Cullen.

Lord Oleo bowed. “Lady Montilyet, what an unexpected pleasure.”

She ignored him and turned her irritation on Isabela. “Dorian told me everything. Why?! Why would you do this, why would you risk your life?”

“What, this?” Isabela shrugged. “We weren’t going to kill each other, sweets. I just wanted him to let go of this arranged marriage business so you can come to sea with me like we talked about.”

“I would have found a way around the betrothal!”

“Yes, but this is much more fun. We were moving on to feathers next.”

“I never agreed to that,” Lord Ohio objected. They both ignored him.

“I just can’t believe you would do this,” Josephine continued. 

“You have the sea in your heart,” Isabela told her, “just like I do. Women like us were never meant to belong to anyone but her - and maybe each other.”

That seemed to pull both Josephine and Lord Ohno up short. “Then this is not the mere dalliance I presumed?” he asked, looking confused. He glanced at Cullen, who by this time had joined them; the commander merely shrugged, as if to say ‘I have no idea what’s going on.’

“Oh, no, it’s definitely a dalliance,” Isabela replied cheerfully. “But there’s nothing ‘mere’ about it. I’m a pirate, and stealing priceless treasure is what I do best. So I came here to steal yours.” She glanced at Josephine. “You do _ want _ to be stolen, don’t you?”

Josephine, to her infinite amusement, was blushing. “I - well - I wasn’t aware that I had a choice,” she said teasingly.

“If he’ll let you out of this contract, then as soon as the Inquisition wins its war, I’ll steal you properly.” Isabela looked at Lord Ontario. “What do you say to that, messere? You can keep the wine I brought. I’m keeping the feathers, though… might have another use for them.”

“Perhaps you may.” He shook his head, his expression incredulous. “Far be it from me to stand in the way of genuine attachment. Lady Montilyet, I withdraw my family’s betrothal. May you be happy at sea.”

“You are a true gentleman, Lord Otranto,” she replied gratefully. (Oh, _ that _ was the name.) “May the Maker bless you for this.”

While Cullen made some noises about the Inquisition paying for the lord’s meals and lodging in recompense for his trouble, and the two men went away to deal with that, Josephine turned to Isabela. “Well… what now?”

Isabela smirked. “How’d you like to finally see my ship?”


	4. Everything Nice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Inquisitor Trevelyan has set his admiring eyes on his organization's own spymistress. However, he does have a certain rival for her affections.

“Look, I don’t care what you say,” said Lord Inquisitor Trevelyan. He folded his arms and stared sullenly at his adversary. “You’re not in charge here.”

There was no outward answer, but the little scamp studied him with beady black eyes. The Inquisitor frowned.

“I don’t care if you object,” he continued. “She is a beautiful and wonderful woman who has been through a lot, and she deserves to know how I feel about her. Even if she doesn’t feel the same, I want her to know that there’s someone who cares that much for her.”

This got a bit more of a response, in the form of an agitated little huff noise.

“I know you care for her too. That’s obvious. You all do.” This was met with something of an affirmative blink. “But that’s not the same.”

Apparently this struck a nerve, for suddenly, Baron Plucky puffed himself up, fluffing his feathers in an agitated manner. The Inquisitor couldn’t suppress a slight smile. 

“Are you challenging me, messere?” he asked. “Must I duel you for the right to seek my lady’s hand?”

Baron Plucky responded verbally for the first time, in the sense of a ‘caw’ being verbal. Of course, this might have been a challenge or it might have been a mild protest to the stuffy nature of Leliana’s rookery. He was in arguably the finest of the cages which hung suspended on chains from the arched ceiling of the rotunda, with the homes of his brethren interspersed similarly among the crossbeams. Most of them were not at home, being out in the world on official Inquisition business. His Corvid Lordship, however, being a particular favorite of the spymistress, wasn’t often sent away from the fortress, and so he was on hand for bickering purposes.

* * *

Exactly what had driven Trevelyan to the rookery, even he wasn’t entirely certain.

That he admired Leliana was a complete secret, which meant that everyone in Skyhold knew about it. He had more than once overheard some of the Orlesian visitors to the great hall muttering about it to one another. Of course, Orlesian gossips were never the most subtle of creatures, and they generally didn’t even take the trouble of lowering their voices regardless of how likely it was that they might be overheard by their subject.

“I understand that His Worship has a certain… affinity… for redheads.”

“Secretive redheads, to be precise.”

“How deliciously scandalous.”

“Well, after all, it is the _ left hand _ which is so significant for him.”

“This is so! A left hand and a Left Hand. Noble names, the allure of the forbidden… vicariously satisfying.”

He was too amused by the conversation to complain. He did worry, however, that Leliana might be less than enthusiastic - or worse, less than receptive. He went to Josephine for advice, knowing that the two women were close and she might be his best resource.

Of course, he was no fool. He didn’t go empty-handed. A favor for a favor, that was the diplomatic way, and the Inquisitor sort of liked having a reputation for being ‘everything nice’ that a young man should be. He sent for a box of Carastian candies, having heard that they were a weakness of the ambassador’s, and he was so anxious about receiving them that he rode personally to meet the merchant ship which was bringing them. The slightly tattered sails suggested that they had only barely kept out of the clutches of pirates, he thought; then again, maybe that was just his imagination talking. After all, Varric’s pirate friend had been wandering around the grounds of Skyhold more often than not lately, acting as some sort of field agent, and she talked a lot about ships and sails and sealing wax and other things he only half remembered.

That wasn’t important anyway. The important part was getting back with his prize and gaining an audience with his intended target.

“She’s a bit older than you,” Josephine allowed, once he had first presented the offering and then pleaded his case. “She traveled with the Hero of Ferelden ten years ago when she was a young novitiate, you know, and the intervening years have been… shall we say… less than kind.” She looked unhappy about it. “I think her time as the Left Hand has given her a hardness which she did not have, and I would give much to see it taken from her again.”

“Perhaps I can help with that.”

“If anyone can, I believe it might be you,” she admitted. “That she admires you, I can say for certain. She fully accepts that you are an agent of Andraste, despite all which you discovered during the events at Adamant - I suspect that you may be the last thing which is keeping her faith intact. I implore you, Your Worship, if you can help her strengthen that faith then please do.”

* * *

Before he had the chance to really discuss the matter with Leliana herself, however, he ended up accompanying her to Valence and seeing for himself just what Josephine meant. Her interaction with Sister Natalie showed him just how slim the thread was from which the Left Hand’s faith was hanging, and he truthfully wasn’t sure if she was going to listen when he urged her not to murder the young sister. But she did, and he almost fell against the wall in his relief.

Discovering the box left by Divine Justinia, with its cryptic message about the Left Hand laying down her burdens, was more difficult in its way. The emotions which sketched themselves across her face were hard to read, and harder to fault. Leliana had, he knew, loved Justinia almost like a mother, but at the same time somewhat resented her for everything she had become in service to the woman.

Maybe that was part of what had driven him to the rookery - or at least, he could use that as his excuse for being there. He wanted to know that she was all right, had taken the time she needed to process and understand and accept the situation.

Instead, she wasn’t at home, so to speak, and he ended up confessing his feelings to the judgmental Baron Plucky, who was not hearing them with any sort of benevolence. The Inquisitor legitimately did not know whether the bird was just generally disagreeable or if he had some specific dislike and resentment toward himself. A note left by one of the scouts seemed to imply that the former was indeed the case, but that didn’t rule out the possibility of the latter too.

The fact that the Baron appeared to be responding favorably to his offer of a duel, however unlikely that seemed, led him to believe that he was right to think it was personal.

“All right, have it your way,” he said. “Let’s see what I can find in the way of a weapon. I don’t think your mistress would thank me if I actually hurt you, and I won’t thank you if you actually hurt me.”

He started poking around the rookery, trying to avoid delving into anything that wasn’t intended for public consumption. The wine casks were best left untouched; without a goblet, or even a cork, he’d end up either spilling it on the floor and then falling on his face or else bathing in the stuff while still fully clothed. A wine bath was supposed to be good for the skin, according to something in the latest issue of the _ Randy Dowager Quarterly _, but he absolutely did not read that.

There were some food supplies on the far side of the walkway, probably brought up on Josephine’s orders for those days when Leliana was too engrossed in her work to even go searching for a meal. Food wasn’t a good weapon unless one’s opponent was Sera, but desperate (and mildly insane) moments called for desperate (and mildly insane) measures.

“I found a carrot,” he told Baron Plucky, returning to the cage. “I think if I shave it to a better point, it might be a match for your beak.” Taking a dagger from his belt, he set about doing just that, collecting the peelings in a tidy pile on the wooden table.

“Inquisitor? What are you doing?”

Leliana’s quiet steps had escaped his attention as she made her way up the stairs, and now she was staring at him in some sort of entertained puzzlement. He shot to his feet, impulsively putting the carrot and blade behind his back like a kid who got caught with a hand in the sugar bowl.

“Leliana. I came to see - um - well, how are you? Since Valence?”

“Good. Wonderful!” she replied, stepping more properly into the room. “Valence was like a rebirth for me. I cannot thank you enough - if you hadn’t been with me, I would have killed Natalie.” She shook her head, smiling a bit. “Josephine will never let me hear the end of it. ‘Niceness before knives, Leliana, haven’t I always told you?’” Her impression of the ambassador’s Antivan accent was, he thought, rather comically adorable.

“It’s good to see you looking optimistic.” As casually as he could, he returned the dagger to his belt, then scooped up the pile of carrot shavings and put them in the Baron’s cage; the bird immediately began investigating the unexpected gift. “I was just, uh, having a chat with Baron Plucky here. He’s… well, he seems to be the jealous type.”

“Is that so?” Her lips twitched. “He’s my favorite and he knows it. I suppose he doesn’t like the idea of anyone trying to be more loved by me than he is.”

“And what if I told you that doesn’t deter me?” he asked, smiling.

“Hmm.” She moved to watch the Baron devouring the bits of carrot, his proposed duel with the Inquisitor forgotten. “I am more than Justinia made me, and I know this. Is it so wrong to think that perhaps they will choose me for the Sunburst Throne? That I can do the things she could not?”

“You would be a brilliant Divine,” he admitted. “You aren’t just more than what she made you, you’re _ better _ than she was.” Summoning all of his courage, he dared to move to her side. “I would support you for Divine, if that’s what you want.”

“It is.”

“And… should I let _ that _ deter me?”

She turned to look at him, one eye obscured by her grey hood. “Andraste had a mortal husband, and yet still served the Maker according to His will,” she replied after a moment. “Perhaps that should be one of the changes I make - allowing Chantry members to pledge themselves to Him and yet still experience mortal love for themselves. I think the world could always do with _ more _ love.”

“I completely support this idea.” He smiled, reaching for her hand. “And I’d like to hear about your other plans, or anything else you want to tell me.”

“I think it’s a conversation I’ve been waiting to have with you,” she replied, squeezing his fingers briefly. “Longer than I even knew. I always thought the Maker and Andraste sent you to us, and I still believe that,” she added. “But now I think that maybe, they also sent you to _ me. _”

He chuckled, but he had one more question. “If I kiss you, will Baron Plucky come after me in my sleep?”

Leliana laughed, her pale face gaining fresh bloom and her eyes growing animated with delight. “Will you dare to risk it?”

“You know, I think I will.”


End file.
